


Dressage

by Arithanas



Series: The Count and his Valet [2]
Category: Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers - Alexandre Dumas
Genre: BSDM, Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Servant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-29
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:50:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Genre: Drama<br/>Size: ~ 16,000 words<br/>Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is aware that BSDM is a lifestyle and she suports the right of everyone to live their lives as they please. Dumas & Maquet’s work is public domain.<br/>Synopsis: It is 1609-1611. The young Viscount of La Fère is living on his own now and serving in the navy, followed by his valet.  Despite his lack of experience to live on his own, the Viscount has a responsibility to take care of his lackey. Completely unprepared, with the training of horses and hounds as all reference, he proceed to train his servant. This is the story of this training, from the perspective of Grimaud.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Intro

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: There may be underage sex, mostly done by teenagers over the age of sixteen that are living on their own. To the purpose of this fanfic they should be seen as emancipated minors.

_Put your time, effort and money into training,  
grooming, and encouraging your greatest asset._

~ Tom Hopkins

 

M. Gédéon gave me the news that I was chosen to accompany the Viscount in his naval service. I reveled in the pride his voice distilled; all my life had enjoyed his satisfaction at my behavior. I was an orphan, my mother died in childbirth, and I did not remember my father; he died when one of the colts gave him a kick in the head, when I was little more than a newborn. Gédéon and his wife took care of me, because my father was a Breton like them. If not for him and his wife, the others have let me die of starvation as many orphans in the countryside. I was raised to serve, and all the incentive I needed was to know that, if I served well, it made him happy. M. Gédéon was the closest thing to a father I had, to make him proud of me was the least I could do, and I tried hard for years for he never would feel disappointed by me. Get the job he wanted for me was the greatest achievement, and now I did it. I was entitled to feel satisfied.

 

"You always were a good boy, Grimaud," he never used my Christian name, because he did not want to forget that I was not his son. "But now comes the hard part. The young master is a new person you have to learn to please and, if he is like his father and his grandfather, it will not be easy."

 

 "He's callow, and I think he will be satisfied with little, M. Gédéon," I said, confident that the sixteen years that had I had been learning to serve would be sufficient.

 

"Keep thinking so, garrulous, and very soon you'll be out of work," He warned me, his hand gave me a blow on the neck; there was more love than strength in it. "If that blood is famous for something is for always knowing what they want. You’ll learn it in time, and it will cost you many tears."

 

At that time, I refused to believe him. I was too pleased with myself to care for his wise counsel. During the time before our leaving, I was busy, learning about my new master, trying to be ready to fulfill my duty. Time was pressing, and I had only a month to learn to take care of his possessions, and to improve my skills on horseback. M. Gédéon's wife taught me how to stiffening linen shirts as the Viscount liked them, and I learned how to heal wounds, and some of his recipes favorites. All this served me well to keep temptation away from my mind.

 

I was young, and I was satisfied with little.

 

***


	2. On the whip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genre: Drama  
> Size: ~ 16,000 words  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is aware that BSDM is a lifestyle and she suports the right of everyone to live their lives as they please. Dumas & Maquet’s work is public domain.  
> Synopsis: It is 1609-1611. The young Viscount of La Fère is living on his own now and serving in the navy, followed by his valet. Despite his lack of experience to live on his own, the Viscount has a responsibility to take care of his lackey. Completely unprepared, with the training of horses and hounds as all reference, he proceed to train his servant. This is the story of this training, from the perspective of Grimaud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There may be underage sex, mostly done by teenagers over the age of sixteen that are living on their own. To the purpose of this fanfic they should be seen as emancipated minors.

_Growth begins when we begin to accept our own weakness_

~  Jean Vanier

 

Soon, I began to discover what M. Gédéon was talking about.

While traveling, at full gallop, there was little time to speak; at night, my new master let me help him take off his outfit before climbing into bed and fall asleep almost immediately. We ate breakfast together, but the rest of the meals were done on horseback. He was in a hurry, and I had to keep up. Those eight days, I fell asleep on the floor; I had no strength to go find some straw in the stables. I never thought riding was so tiresome. While it lasted, I had no problems handling his service, because I had not been asked more than I expected, but I began to feel uncomfortable, it seemed that he did not notice my presence. There was no satisfaction in serving someone who did not seem pleased with my work.

When we arrived at Calais for the first time, I was stunned, even the port city seemed a tremendously large. It was when the Viscount spoke to me, without my work was involved; his voice was warm and a little amused.

"I know it looks impressive, Jean-Benoît," and something in his voice told me that Calais had also taken a toll on him. "But we will try not to look like two villagers straight out of province, even though we are, Won’t we?”

"Yes, master"

"Ah, and call me _M. le Vicomte_ from now on," ordered my master, adjusting his hat. "It is proper and that will avoid confusion with another servant. Understood?"

"Yes, master... I mean, _M. le Vicomte_ "

"Good. Let’s go, we must find some diner, and a place to rest..."

As we came to an inn, he gave me orders to empty the saddlebags and that I carry the portmanteau with me, for he had a deal to leave his beautiful black stallion for breeding on a farm near Calais. That horse was the most pampered beast of the whole France. He hoped to have a few foals to tame and ride in due time. I took care of the horses and, when I entered the inn, he had already ordered food for both, and I was expected to eat. That seemed too extraordinary for me not to be confused by it, but his signal convinced me to sit at the table. He began to eat with good appetite, but I felt it was not proper for me to do it so.

"Have you lost your appetite?" He asked after a while as him soaked a piece of bread in the fat of the meat.

"No, _M. le Vicomte_ , but I feel uncomfortable eating at the table and the same food as you"

"You should not," he replied relishing the piece of bread that had been put in his mouth. "This will not happen again anytime soon. This trip helped me to know that I should have you in my service. We are celebrating that your work is safe."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You want to be out of La Fère for my father could find out about certain things, am I right? I had to choose a valet, but nothing obliged me to have him in my service, isn’t it? In recent days you've followed me at breakneck speed without any complaint, and you obeyed the orders that I gave you. I want you in my service."

"I thought I had a guaranteed place..."

"First rule, Jean-Benoît: Never assume that you know what I want," my master said using the knife to cut the meat in front of him. "I've trained enough dogs and horses to know that you must not demand too much. Your orders will be three until I feel you're ready for more. Number 1: You only will speak when you were talked to, I do not want to listen you speak your fantasies aloud or hear some off the cuff comments; Number 2: You responsible for my luggage and my properties, you will wash and look after my clothes, you will take care of my horse, occasionally you will keep my money safe, your only exception is my sword, you will not touch it under any circumstances; and Number 3: You will answer my call at any time, no excuses. For everything else, ask me before you act. Understood?"

It was my idea or I had just been compared with a dog?

"Understood," I agreed; the work did not seem so burdensome, but I was not thrilled by the comparison.

"Good. We had agreed that I would pay you when you complete a _livre_ , as the days of work, a roof to sleep and food. Anything else you need to consider?"

"Free time?" I asked, trying not to embarrass him with my table manners.

"When I am doing my service and your chores are complete. Does it suit you?"

I nodded, and kept eating. I like that he made my service clear.

"Once I'm up at this table, I just call you Grimaud, and you always will call _M. le Vicomte_. As it seems to be your custom, you can call me 'master' when we are alone..."

***

Our first three months at sea were interesting. My master was busy learning the practical aspects of his new trade, and my work always seemed to satisfy him. He did not talk much with me, but he does not speak more than necessary to others. He had a friend in the ship, and spoke to him only to exchange the books they had on their disposal and to comment on a couple of passages that seemed interesting, accompanied by a cup of wine. For my part, I made friends with many of the sailors, and in my spare time learning new skills. I discovered I was good with knots. One of the officers requested permission from my master so I could cover a few guards on deck, and he allowed it.

Life seemed good, that is why that afternoon in Brest took me by surprise.

"Grimaud, do you remember La Fère?" he asked me from the bed where he lay while I cleaned his boots.

"Often and with affection, master," I replied smiling. I missed our home, but did not regret leaving it. The temptation was there, but I was too busy to pay it too much attention.

"And remember how do you wanted to ask me for work?" insisted, from where I could hardly see him in the bed, but he looked relaxed.

"Yes, master," I said and, to myself, I began on congratulate myself: surely now he would say I was all that I had promised to be.

"I do question that you are a ‘prized possession’ to me when your appearance is too shabby," he sat on the bed. His eyes were giving me a full review, and I felt the full weight of his judgment in that look. "Roundly, Grimaud, you stink. I have a new order for you: The first thing you'll be doing when arriving in port is to wash and to change clothes. I want you clean and with good presence all the time. "

The emotion in his voice surprised me, and the meaning of the words hurt me. I was not trying to belittle him on purpose. I thought I was doing in my job well; now he felt so disappointed that I felt like escaping from his presence. How was possible that I did not realize that he was not satisfied with my personal appearance?

"My horse, for one example, is a valuable asset for me: is a good way to transport myself, it is a beautiful animal and, more importantly, when I ride my horse people know that I am a person of quality," he continued without raising his voice, he was more concerned with making his message clear than to ensure his power over me. "What do people will think when you're three steps from me, reeking of sailor sweat and sea breeze, when your clothes are rumpled and dirty? Correctly, people will think I'm a rube who has never dealt with educated persons!"

"Yes, _M. le Vicomte_ , but these are my best clothes..." I ventured to reply, because it was true. In La Fère, this was the attire I used to go to church every Sunday.

I did not expect what he did next. He rose from bed with a vexed gesture, and opened the closet where I had settled his clothes. Without pause, he chose a pair of riding trousers, a jerkin and a sturdy linen shirt before placing them in my arms with a push.

"There! No more excuses!" My master exclaimed, his posture indicated that he would not endure more nonsense. "You will wear these clothes when we are in port. It is an order."

"Thanks, master," I said taking the clothes he gave me. They were a little worn out, but they were very fine clothes for me. These used clothes were a luxury, and they need very little work to fit me.

"I warn you that the consequences will not be pleasant if you fail me, Grimaud," he went back to bed. He must have noticed my joy upon receiving the clothes because he added: "But if you please me, and I am satisfied, I'll buy new clothes just for you. Now, go and obey."

I did a little bow and took my case on the way to the door. In a quiet corner of the inn, I tried on the clothes he had given me and discovered I had to do lots of work on the sides of the shirt, for my master was wider than me; that ruined a bit the pleasure of getting new clothes. I spent a good hour sitting in the common room, adjusting the garment with the tools of my case, and it was quite dark when I left to the yard to pour cold water over my head before rubbing with lye soap until I was clean for Easter. All the while, to my shame, I keep muttering against the spoiled children of noble houses, as if it was his fault that I knew not how to stay clean.

When I look back, I realize how young and stupid I was.

I returned to the room, too angry at him to realize the coolness and comfort I felt after washing. He was lying in bed but when he heard the door sat down with the sword in his hand.

"I obeyed, master"

"I notice it," he replied, lying between the sheets again. "You smell clean. Go to sleep, tomorrow you will go with me to the market."

He did not bought me my new clothes the next day; before doing so he needed to know that I had understood my new order, but he bought some new tools to my kit: a razor, a brush for my hair, and sharp scissors. He said he was confident that I would preen myself to keep him happy, and he was right, at that moment, I would bathe in cold well water every day just to see the smile he gave me when he placed those gifts in my hands.

We landed several times without any problem. The first night, he always dined with the officers, and when he came to his lodgings, he found his clothes settled on the furniture, his bed set and his servant freshly washed and shaved. And he smiled, and gave me a few coins to go to dinner. Orderly life was very satisfactory for my master, but one night, in England, we got to port early morning due to a storm. It was too late, my master just wanted to get to bed, like the rest of the officers, so he washed himself, brushed his hair and changed his shirt. He went out like a light as soon as his head touched the pillow. I was exhausted, because in a storm all hands are needed to attend the ropes and rigging, and I just got the strength to find a corner and fell asleep.

Next morning, very early, I was awakened by my master. He did not say my name or caught my attention any other way; he just took me by the hair and forced me to get up. I was on the verge of asking him that if he was crazy when the belt of his sword struck my side. I hardly felt the blow, what I felt was a tremendous anger. I could not believe he was beating me! I struggled against him, trying to force his fingers to let me go, but he did not relented and once he had satisfied his anger, he pushed me against the wall. My right side was burning a little by the blows, but still, I was essentially unharmed. He saw me, eyes half-closed, I knew he was thinking what to say, but I gave him no time.

"What is it all about?" I yelled trying to get something straight of the whole scene.

"Punishment” and that was it. He did not say another word to clarify the situation.

"Punishment? Punishment?!" I repeated, unable to believe what he was saying. I was aware that he had ordered me to wash myself as soon as possible we arrived in port, yet the outbreak of rebellion possessed me. "It was pitch-dark! I was dead tired!"

"So was I"

"But you did not have to go out into the yard!" I cried out of my mind. "It's freezing out there!"

"I left water for you, in the pitcher," he informed me, pointing with his chin. "You not even tried to cleanse yourself. The result is logical: Bad Grimaud get his punishment. Now, to your work!"

He turned around, and tried to get a clean doublet of the suitcase. I stood by the wall, shaking with rage, in La Fère, when someone laid a hand on me, they always told me why. With a snort, I set out to get to work, but his hand stopped me before I could start.

"Was I not clear?" He asked me, there was hardly an emotion in that handsome face whiles his hand grasped my right wrist. "The first thing you do when we get into port is wash yourself!"

"What difference does it make?" I protested. I was in one rebel day, definitely.

"A lot, because that was my order and I am your master," he reprove without releasing my hand. "That was what you wanted in La Fère when you asked to be my valet, no? A master to give you clear orders, and not settle for less than the best service you could give. I don't settle for hitting you, you have to learn to obey. Go and wash, Grimaud!"

"I don’t want to, dammit!" I shouted in his face daring on what I would never dare to do to M. Gédéon, although he beat me even harder.

His hand released me, and I stumbled back. While I was distracted by my lack of balance, he took the bag where my possessions were, and threw it to my chest, with precision and strength. For a moment, I lost my breath, but my hands clung to the package, almost by instinct. Then, he opened the door and, with a push, he made me out of the room.

"It seems that you copped an attitude, Grimaud", he said standing in the doorway. His gesture was severe. "I recommend you to get your priorities straight, and decide what you really want. I will not tolerate another scene like this one. If you return, make sure you're clean and meek, because when I give an order, I want it fulfilled; and if it was not fulfilled, it's my right to punish you for not doing so, as you asked me to!"

And then, he closed the door with a loud bang.

At first, I just stood there in the hallway, unable to believe that he almost threw me out. The closed door was too big a reproach. I've never been rejected so strongly. The rebellion that served me as fuel, left me suddenly, and icy fingers gripped my heart. I had to hold my first impulse to hit the door until he opened it; I barely did it on time. I had to keep my dignity, while I had any. I went to the common room, because it was absurd to keep my place in front of that damned door. I ate my breakfast while I tried to sort my mind out.

What did I want? That was the question. I had spent five months on a ship; I knew I could do the work of a sailor. It was not necessary that I return on serve him: the spoiled child could serve himself just fine. I could be free. On the other hand, I could be free as a failure, I would betray the trust of M. Gédéon, and the legacy of my parents, they had served for years to people even more stubborn, and less clear than my master. Could I give up just because he gave me a few strokes?

Part of me hated to admit that I had reacted badly. Of course it was his right: I had been disobedient and lazy. It would not have taken more than a few moments to give him satisfaction. If I had half a brain, I could have checked the pitcher, or I could have gone to the kitchen. I served him badly, that was the truth. I yelled at my master because I was punished for serving him poorly. M. Gédéon would be so ashamed of me; I knew it, because I was ashamed of myself.

I left the inn, with my things, ready to obey him. As I washed, I noticed I had only five marks on my side. Five strokes made me behave like a child? I was even more ashamed of myself. Shivering from the cold, I shaved to give a better presence before returning on the room. I stood in front of the room and opened the door; I was determined to make him accept me again. Inside was dark, because the day was cloudy outside, but I made out the silhouette of my master, sitting in an armchair.

"Master..." I called out; suddenly I couldn't say another word. He seemed so heartbroken, and I was sure it was my entire fault.

"Grimaud," it was his reply. I could see he was not at his happiest moment. "What do you want?"

"First of all, forgiveness, master," I told him approaching about where he was. My words received no answer. "If you give it to me, I would like to serve you again..."

"You are forgiven," those were his words. "I ask you, please, do not make me hit you again. I hate to use the spurs on my horse, and punishment on you, because I do not damage what is mine." He hesitated. "Are you mine, Grimaud?"

I could not explain what happened inside me. I just knew that this question made me feel terribly alone, and extremely loved at the same time. I always was an unclaimed child, alone in this world because nobody, not even M. Gédéon, had considered me as his own. The Viscount, this person who feed me, clothed me, punished me, and forgave me, asked me if I was his, and I was like a thirsty traveler which was asked whether he wants a cup of water. I wanted to be his.

I _needed_ to be his.

"If you want it, master, I am yours..." I managed to say in a choked voice, before putting my head on his lap. I felt I was on the verge of tears.

"Thanks, Grimaud," his voice didn't sounded cheerful, but his long, aristocratic fingers caressed my head, giving me an unexpected comfort, he accepted me. "I'll take care of you, Grimaud, because now you are mine. We have to work hard, but I know we can improve you, as my servant, and I, as your master."

Anything worth having is worth working for...

***

It was a new but very nice feeling to know that I was of the Viscount. He remained very clear on what he wanted from me, and very fair to impose his punishments, especially when I forgot I had not to speak until I was talked to. I did my best to please him, and he rewarded me with small gifts and some extra money. Above all, he spared a kind word or a caste touch from time to time. I loved to feel I was watched, because he was starting to read me, and he knew when I was too much tired, or when I was homesick. On these occasions, he did wonderful things he was not obliged to, as an example, if I was tired at the disembark, he let me use his bed while he went for a walk; If I missed La Fère, he told me to write to Gédéon, for he would pay the mailing fee. My greatest pleasure was when he let me rest my head on his thigh while he wrote letters. I felt very lucky to be his, the Viscount cared about what was that his, and all he asked in return was that I was clean, obedient and efficient.

I had no illusions. I knew that the Viscount did not love me as a lover, but he had details that no one ever had to me. On my birthday, he bought me a violet-colored wool jerkin and a velvet cap that matched. For starters, in my seventeen years, nobody had celebrated that I came into this world, much less, had spent a coin to make me a gift. I knew that the clothes he had bought me were not a expense for him, but they were new, they had been chosen for me by a person who cared for I eat every day, and that I get enough rest at night. That alone was enough for me to be loyal and grateful and to strive to give him the best of my service.

 

***


	3. On the aids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genre: Drama  
> Size: ~ 16,000 words  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is aware that BSDM is a lifestyle and she suports the right of everyone to live their lives as they please. Dumas & Maquet’s work is public domain.  
> Synopsis: It is 1609-1611. The young Viscount of La Fère is living on his own now and serving in the navy, followed by his valet. Despite his lack of experience to live on his own, the Viscount has a responsibility to take care of his lackey. Completely unprepared, with the training of horses and hounds as all reference, he proceed to train his servant. This is the story of this training, from the perspective of Grimaud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There may be underage sex, mostly done by teenagers over the age of sixteen that are living on their own. To the purpose of this fanfic they should be seen as emancipated minors.

_You mustn't force sex to do the work of love or love to do the work of sex._

~ Mary McCarthy

 

Everything was going well until I started to fancy Bruno too much.

This sailor from Marseilles had dark hair and creamy skin, and a body that was worth risking your eternal salvation for. The worst of the situation was that it was mutual. Bruno found me desirable. Once I realized this, I should have been walking a few inches above the ground for two or three trips, because my master looked at me with an amused smile, though he never forbade me to use my free time in this new interest. He believed that everyone could condemn their soul as it suit them best.

Bruno was the first pair of lips that I kissed, his hands were the first that touched me under the shirt. He was a gentle, but demanding lover. Sometimes, when we shared caresses under hatches, I was requested by my master, he did everything possible for me to disobey the call of the Viscount; he tried everything in his hand for me to stay by his side. He did not seem to understand that satisfy my master was more important to me than satisfy him. Bruno made me look bad, and it made me angry. Worse, my master was disappointed and upset when I did not answer quickly, and that made me sad. I would not let go to Bruno, but it hurt me to know I was not giving my best service to the Viscount.

For weeks, I was undecided about what to do. During those weeks, Bruno, patiently, taught me the joys of using my mouth on his not inconsiderable manhood. I must admit I had never considered such activity, but once I tried it, it became an addiction. I never had enough of that, and I found very unwelcoming that my master request my presence while I was at it. I guess that was even less pleasant for Bruno, but my master was above him.

My Marseillais sailor could stir my passions, but he did not make me feel cared for nor cherished.

My affair with Bruno had to end. There was no other way around it. He never would understand that my master would always be above him; that fulfill the expectations of the Viscount was more important to me than the satisfaction of my carnal desires, or his, for that matters. While we were in the dog watch, I informed him my decision. I tried to be polite and grateful for the time I had been granted, but Bruno did not take it as good as I expected.

"He is using you, Jeannot," Bruno muttered between his teeth while pulling a rope with more force than was necessary. He always called me Jeannot, and I always hated it.

"Not so, he pays me... besides, it's a good job and I do not want to lose it," I tried to explain him, because he could never understand my reasons.

"He treats you like a dog, he keep you in short leash, and he makes you sleep on the floor..."

"That's not important. It's better than the life I had at home"

"That does not mean it is right... Does he hit you, Jeannot?"

The Viscount was not beaten me in over three months, but sometimes he threatened to do so. I was not afraid of his blows because, to avoid them, it was enough to do my labor. The fact that he used that against my master made me angry.

"That's nothing that matters to you!"

"I love you, Jeannot..."

"No, you desire me, at least be honest about it"

"Oh...," he moaned, his hand was busy tying the rope to a belaying pin. "I understand: you desire him"

"Don't be stupid, to desire _M. le Vicomte_ would be like wishing to put the sun under my hat. I don't love you, not enough to risk my job just because sometimes I desire you. I can't imagine the rest of my life with you, is that simple.”

"You lying bitch!"

When Bruno yelled at me, I took two steps back, startled. My master never yelled at me, not even when I rebelled against him. I saw Bruno raise his fist and, instinctively, I covered my head - I suppose the stories about my father's death had been effective -, but he never got to strike a blow. My master came out of nowhere, and grabbed his arm as he pushed his head against the pin rail with a fluid motion. I closed my eyes because I did not want to see the hit.

"While you made him happy, I said nothing," whispered my master over Bruno's shoulder, "but if you dare to hurt my servant, you will settle the score with me, stray dog. This is a warning..."

Then, as if Bruno and his wounds were not important, my master released him and turned his attention to me, his face said he wasn't happy, but he didn't looked mad at me.

"Grimaud, where is my dark blue doublet?" asked without raising the voice and with common courtesy. "This one is wet and uncomfortable..."

"In the case, under the starched shirts, _M. le Vicomte_ ," I replied, not believing what that he had done.

"Thanks,” my master replied beginning to untie the strings and pointing with his chin the forecastle. "It seems they need your help there. Go and earn your pay!"

I ran to the fore, leaving my master with my former lover. If he had decided to take part in the affair, then there was nothing I could do but obey. If my master and Bruno talked about something I never heard of it.

While I served on the deck, I tried to be as efficient as usual, but I began to feel strange looks around me. Until that day, to serve on deck was like to serve at home, all helped with the same purpose, the camaraderie was the order of the day, and give a hand to someone was a way to save all us work. But now, the rest of the sailors reacted strangely when I was among them, and the looks I got were like the looks I saw in the markets between those who wanted to buy a horse, as if weighing me for something other than my qualities. And one night, some days later, that was a night off, my master was at the helm watch, when I returned late to the shared cabin to rest after my watch, those looks made sense.

"So, you're not only a fawner, but also a molly," muttered one of the sailors while I descended the stairs and exited the hub. His voice surprised me. I was not expecting that.

"Not your business," I replied and tried to give not importance to his words.

My life was really not his affair, besides, I was too tired and, once I gave food and drink to my master, the only thing I thought about was sleeping. But the sailors are not the most subtle people, and he decided that if he hadn't called my attention with words, he had to get my attention otherwise. His dirty hand and long fingernails took me by my shirt collar and pushed me against the hull of the ship. He caught me between the wood with his body and his hands caressed my ass.

"It is my business, batty boy, because I fancy your sweet ass," he informed me, his breath reeked of cheap wine and I felt the anger starting to build up inside me. "Don't worry, pansy, you're going to ride the best damn cock between Calais and Lisbon..."

"Let go!" I ordered, trying to push me from the timber.

"No, butt bunny, not without having my way with you." I gritted my teeth when I felt his hand near my crotch. "If you're good, there may be some coins for you..."

As he held my face against the wood, I couldn't do much to defend myself, and I was getting furious beyond all measure. Fear may come later, along with disgust, but then my whole being was focused on shaking off his burden.

"There, there, that's better..." he murmured against my neck when I stopped fighting against his hands, I felt his weight away from me as his arms contained me.”Turn around, I want to see the face that Bruno enjoyed every time he ride you"

He should never have mentioned Bruno, but his biggest mistake was to force me to see his ugly face.

"You're not so proud now that your master is not here to defend you, right?" he asked me, seeing that I obeyed him without question.

"I don't need him to defend myself," I muttered before giving a right punch in his enormous belly, my head got down until it hit his bald pate, and then pushed him using the hull of the ship as support.

What did this idiot think? I was a man, bugger, of course, but a man nonetheless. If I wanted to serve my master, that was my problem; the same if I wanted to sin with another man. He had been really mistaken in believing that, because I had cherished Bruno, any fool would be the same for me. I was so enraged and insulted that the only thing I thought was I would beat him until he was black and blue. I may not have the elegance of my master, but few things in my life felt better than the kick that struck between his legs. While he was concerned about cradling his aching nuts, I came across the face with the best right-hand jab I could get. Later, my master would call me to account for the bruise, but then I didn't care. My left hand grabbed him by the collar and - if I say that it was without effort, I would be lying - I stamped him against the bulkhead of the shared cabin. I fell upon him with a barrage of punches that were more imposing for its quantity than for its strength. Of course, all of this could not be done without noise, and some of the sailors, who were resting, came to see the fun. He was almost on the floor, but I wasn't satisfied. He had treated me like a cheap whore!

"Crawl, you jerk!" I order him before kick him to the floor. "Men walk, dogs crawl!"

By dint of kicking, I made him climb up the stairs on all fours. I would assume that he never dared to try to force another man after being humiliated by a "molly" like me. I was going down the stairwell, breathing hard, when I saw Bruno's face. I didn't know to decipher his expression, but it was different from the rest of the sailors who laughed loudly. In the face of my former lover I could read disappointment at my behavior, but what did he want from me? Did he expect me to be meekly used? When we disembark in the next port, Bruno got off the ship and he never returned, but truth be told, I couldn't care less.

***

When we got to port, I did what I was supposed to do. After the affair of Bruno, I didn't want my master had the slightest reason for complaint. While my master was dining with the ship's officers, I rushed to put everything in his room as he liked, and immediately went down to wash and wear clean clothes. I expected him to be back later, as the last few times the officers had dragged him to a brothel, and his conduct made me suspect that he loved those outings. So, when I returned to the room and found him sitting up in bed with his hands dangling between his thighs, I was more than surprised. He made a sign, and told me to shut the door. I obeyed, fearing that I had done something to anger him.

"We have a domestic issue to discuss, Grimaud," he informed me rising from the bed, his doublet was untied and shirt he wore underneath was soaked with sweat.

"Yes, master," I said standing right, making the possible for he didn't realize that I was nervous.

"Have you finished your business with that sailor?" he asked, his eyes were checking me to the last detail.

"Yes, master," To my shame, I was feeling more and more nervous.

"Your mishandled this matter, Grimaud. He should never have tried to get his hands on you, especially in front of half of the crew," he began to list my faults, while I had been revised. "I should never have come to defend your Breton hide. You did not do your duty."

"Forgive me, master."

"I can forgive it. You have no experience. You had warned me," he conceded with magnanimity that I didn't expect. "But it is a fact that someone else put his hands on my property. Also, I got news today that I never expected to hear, and what I've seen, shows me that it was not a rumor: You had a fight."

"I can explain that, master," I tried to defend myself, but he raised his hand and that sign silenced me immediately.

"I'm angry, because you put at risk what is mine, when you were ordered that you take care of it," the Viscount said; then he sat in an armchair and crossed his arms. "Undress, I have to know how extensive the damage is."

"But, master, I won," I tried to explain him because the position he had assumed didn't bode well for me.

The Viscount response was to raise an eyebrow in a surprised gesture, like he was asking if I doubted that he was the master, and that he had every right to order me to show me naked before him. His rights were not the problem, but I had never been fully undressed in front of another person altogether. M. Gédéon had taught me to change my shirt first, and then my trousers, in order to not offend anyone with my nakedness; Bruno never saw me nude, and he was the person who had more knowledge of my body...

Oh God, I had not even swum naked in the Oise!

My master was getting impatient with my hesitation. He gave me the look. I do not take me long to recognize that look: he had a way to cast his eyes on me that turned my knees into wet clothes and made me want to bow my head until it rested on the floor so he knew I recognized his superiority, and that I would obey all his whims and desires. While I was heeding his blue eyes, my hands began to act on their own and, before I knew it, I was folding and putting my jerkin on a chair, so it does not wrinkle too much; my shirt, breeches and socks followed. Soon, I was as naked as the night my mother gave me birth. My hands were not enough to cover my shame, but my embarrassment didn't seem to matter to my master, who beckoned me to come closer to the candlelight.

With a series of signals my master made me lower my arms, and I was closely inspected. He never gave me a word, but occasionally he made small noises as he used to do when revising his stallion. That sound was able to reassure me, rather than offend me. The clicking of his tongue caressed my ears and relaxed me, for he was checking me as something his, something he cared about. I was happy that my work in the ship gave me a good shape, because he noticed it, and he approved it. In my chest were still traces of Bruno's kisses, when he saw them, I saw a grimace on his face. His hands made me turn around, and made me lean forward. This new position reminded me of the shame I felt at being naked, I had never been more exposed, but my consolation was the situation could not be worse.

M. Gédéon used to say that every time we cherished some hopes, the angels laugh.

"Use your hands to open your cheeks," my master's voice sounded very dispassionately and sure of what he wanted.

I moaned, unable to believe he asked me to humiliate myself even more. I was sure, from which the Viscount was sitting, he could see my butt and my balls; those were caressed by the cool air of the room. Since I could remember, no one had seen my ass up close. My master did not repeat his order, his hand fell on my helpless tush making me jump, startled. Obey him was my best bet, because that smack made me know how much force he could put in his hand, and I didn't want him to use it on me whiles being angry. Closing my eyes, I took my hands to my rear and used my fingers to spread myself and show him the most hidden part of my body.

"This hole was ruined by your sailor?" my master's voice asked in a tone very neutral but I felt my face was colored by the idea.

"N-no, ma-master," I stutter trying not to think about it, as I had done for years. It was a near miracle that I had kept it minted for so long with the desire that I had to have it premiered. "N-no one has t-t-touched it"

"Good. That's my hole, no one should touch it until I say otherwise," he told me, his hand never touched me, but I felt his breath as the words left his mouth. "Enough. Stand up, Grimaud."

The trial was over. I let out the breath from my lungs and left my master's side, too confused and embarrassed to stay close to him in that state. My steps led me to the chair where I had put my clothes. I needed to get dressed.

"Stay naked, Grimaud. I will punish you"

"Master!" I protested, feeling that I had been quite punished by his examination. "He tried to force me..."

"That I had been told, but you won't be punished for defending yourself, Grimaud. I like that you have pride."

"So?"

"You will be punished for damaging what is mine," his hand pointed at my bruised right hand and the marks on my chest, "and for not to live up your job as my valet. Making that sod crawl was excessive; I don't want that happen again. Did you hear me?"

"Yes, master," I admitted, feeling my shoulders down before I could stop them. I hated his punishments, I never liked the pain.

"I am very pleased that you defend what is mine, but I cannot let this go unpunished." he said taking the leather strap that served as a baldric for the sword. "Such conduct is unacceptable; I will tan your hide."

I whine internally, he was going to whip my ass with that wide leather strap. I had endured its sting before, and I knew what that meant to me. Trying to be optimistic, that would make a lot easier to protect his hole: After he leave my butt bruised, there would not be human power that could make me remove my breeches. It was then that I realized that he planned to punish me naked!

"The head on the seat, your abdomen on the armrest and legs straight..." My master ordered folding the leather strip in half.

I looked at the wicked leather strap. I had two options: I could make a scene, and obliged him to strike me all over trying to remember me my place; or I could behave, obey and trust that he liked to hit me as much as I like to be punished. I steeled myself, I walked with heavy steps towards the chair and assumed the position that my master had ordered, knowing beforehand that no matter how much I beg or how many promises I uttered of not repeating the behavior, he would continue to hit me until he thought I had learned the lesson. I just hoped he would be merciful and he would stop before I cry like a child.

"Bad Grimaud..." said my master put his hand on my bare bottom presented for him to hit, until he was satisfied.

"Receive his punishment, master," I replied, knowing he was taking distance to calculate his first hit. I was scared blind thinking of what kind of damage that leather could make my unprotected skin.

"Good Grimaud..." he said, his left hand roamed over my buttocks before lying still in my lower back, to control me whenever I felt the sting and tried to escape.

"Receive his reward, master," I said, too frightened by what would come to savor the fact that he had fondled me.

"And a better Grimaud?" asked my master, very still, with a voice so nice that scared me deeply.

I didn't know how to answer that question because he never had made it before. That was not part of our ritual. I looked up from the seat, and peaked over my shoulder. As usual, the Viscount was an avenging angel, ready to unleash the divine retribution on my butt. His face said that he was fulfilling his duty as my master.

I didn't know how to answer, and he understood me.

"He get his little hole stuffed for the satisfaction of his master," the Viscount answered his own question with the same calm, deep voice.

That piece of information left my mind blank, my soul in a whirlwind and my rear ready for the first blow of the leather strap...

 

***


	4. On the mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genre: Drama  
> Size: ~ 16,000 words  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is aware that BSDM is a lifestyle and she suports the right of everyone to live their lives as they please. Dumas & Maquet’s work is public domain.  
> Synopsis: It is 1609-1611. The young Viscount of La Fère is living on his own now and serving in the navy, followed by his valet. Despite his lack of experience to live on his own, the Viscount has a responsibility to take care of his lackey. Completely unprepared, with the training of horses and hounds as all reference, he proceed to train his servant. This is the story of this training, from the perspective of Grimaud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There may be underage sex, mostly done by teenagers over the age of sixteen that are living on their own. To the purpose of this fanfic they should be seen as emancipated minors.

_Lust is easy.  Love is hard.  Like is most important_. 

~Carl Reiner

My master had promised to take me, but he was not in hurry to do so.

Since that night he had warmed my rear, my master had not mentioned again his intention to relieve me from the burden of my unwanted inexperience. Our situation remained the same: on the ship he served as an officer, and I worked as an ordinary seaman; Ashore, I was his personal servant, and he was an officer at rest. The Viscount often accepted invitations of his peers to visit the non-sancta areas of ports; sometimes he returned late, and a little drunk. I waited for him wide awake, and helped him get to his bed when needed. My master had not banned that I find satisfaction in other bodies, I asked him. I have his consent, but I was to be discreet, and I would not jeopardize what was his. I was very careful not to fall in love again, Bruno had taught me to whom I really belonged; but that didn't stop me to refine my sultry skills, waiting for the moment that my master would let me practice them in him. I really couldn't ask more than he had offered, but I was dying of excitement because he was the handsomest man I had seen, and he wanted to take me.

A new element was added to our routine that was very pleasing to me, in a sort of wicked way. One of the few nights we were in port, my master reserved a quiet evening in his room with a bottle of good vintage, and my presence. He asked me to stand behind his chair and tell him my new adventures on the ship and in port; there was no detail that he didn't want to explore, he requested to know how I spent my time and what activities I did. Although I was a bit disturbed for all those questions, I knew he was entitled to do them: I was his.

"So you licked it...?" My master asked stretching his hand with his tin cup for me to serve him a little more of wine.

"Yes, master," I said paying close attention on not to spill a drop of that wine.

"Tell me about it," he ordered nodding.

"I can demonstrate what I did, master," I said trying to push matter a little.

"No. To touch my body is a privilege and you had yet to earn it," he declared his ruling before taking a long sip of wine. "Also, you need to exhaust the need to talk, you have found it so hard to master lately. Tell me about that fellatio, Grimaud."

I sighed. That pleasure was his to give, it was his right.

***

"Tonight, I'll be back late," the Viscount told me while I made sure that the doublet was well settled on his back. "You are free to take care of your pleasures, Grimaud"

I made a deep bow to thank him for take my needs into account. I already suspected that he would leave with the other officers; for it was the day he turned seventeen. Once he went off to enjoy the night, I looked for my best clothes and pass the brush through my hair. I knew that that wouldn't be the night that my master would pick my cherry, if he was going to spend his evening in a brothel; I was randy and salivating at the thought of finding a gifted blacksmith who would lend me his tool for a while. Blacksmiths were with whom I had better luck, they were grateful and smelled of horse, which always excited me. The second best choice was the stable-boys but it was too risky to engage with one, they were always on service.

The night wasn't like I planned. The person who responded to my advances wasn't interested in my body, only in my money. I was stupid and got into the trap he and his accomplices had lain. When I returned to the inn, I was barefoot and my clothes were completely torn, I was dirty and wet and my whole body ached. I could not tolerate the smell of my clothes; they reeked like their piss and street mud, but had no power to get rid of them. I never forget that night, because until that night rejection for being a sodomite was only a threat, a rather vague one.

This was real, and it scared the living lights out of me.

My master's footsteps sounded on the stairs, and I knew he was going to punish me for my shabby appearance, because I let them damage what was his. Yet, even then, I couldn't even try to take my clothes off. I had had enough time to convince myself that I deserve absolutely everything they did and what my master could do. I could only lift my head from my corner and, I think, I looked at him with eyes of a dog waiting to be beaten. His reaction surprised me, he had entered the room with a telltale wobble that denounced his high wine consumption but, when he saw me, I noticed that he squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw. He walked six or seven steps to where I was, with the candle in his hand and, from its height, looked at me with a frown. He was furious; I could read it clearly on his face. I moaned and decided it was best to plead for his mercy, instead of let him pour his wrath out on my aching body.

"Master..." I threw myself at his feet, thinking that if I had to kiss his boots to avoid my punishment, I would do that.

"No," he said lifting his leg and I fell back, afraid that he would kick me, but what he did was to kneel and put the candlestick on the floor. "You can clean my boots and make them shine, but you're not going to kiss my feet. You're a man, Grimaud..." His hand, now free, took me by the chin and drew me to the light. His eyes were inspecting the damage his punches had been done to me. "Who hit you?"

"I don't know..." I groaned and trembled a little, because his fingers were hurting me. I could barely see because one of my eyes was swelling. "I went to a tavern, there was a man..."

"Are the problems with you and men will ever end?" the Viscount interrupted me with an angry snarl. Then, seeing that I was frightened, he shook his head, let me go and sat next to me, though my scent should have offend him. "Go on"

"I followed him, I thought... I thought he wanted..." I tried to explain the details that he always asked me to tell him, but I couldn't. My master made me a sign to continue, "They beat me, they took my money... they said they should kill me... They said a lot about who I am... what I am..."

"What you are is my valet..." my master said, passing his arm around my shoulders and approaching him in a crude attempt to embrace. “What a bunch of stupid villagers say on the matter does not count"

"But... master, I am what they said..." I tried to protest and leave him, but he prevented it. "Please..."

"Why do you give more importance to the words of a few slobs than to your master’s words?" he asked me and pulled me closer to his chest. "I am your master; keep that in mind, for you have no other. As your master, I am the one who decides what your value is." His right hand took my hair back to check a bleeding wound." I'm not mad at you. I am angry at those who dared to harm one of my most valuable possessions... "

I could not stop the tears and leaned on his chest, trying to swallow my sobs. My master let me cry, using his hands from time to time to find out where I was sore. After a while I realized that I was smearing one of his best doublets and tried to separate from him again, but he didn't let me go.

"Grimaud...," he called, holding me against him. His voice was low but sounded anxious, trying to be nice. "Did they force you?"

The horror implied that question made me shiver, and he might misunderstand it because he held me tightly in his arms as if to protect me from that fact. I had to use my voice for him to release me.

"No, master, they just bash me," I explained, trying not to soil his clothing. "Are you going to punish me?"

"Tomorrow we'll see if I blister your ass, Grimaud," he said dropping his arms. "Tonight, you need a less harsh master. Let us patch those wounds up..."

***

My master didn't hit my butt; instead, he chose another punishment, a one particularly cruel to me.

A lazy spring afternoon, some days after his birthday, I prepared his suitcase while he was changing to his work clothes. Soon we were going back to the ship and the blows on my face had not even begun to heal, I knew my master was worried that everyone would believe that the blows had been inflicted by him. That idea upset me to me too, but I was more disturbed for the Viscount had been kinder to me the last two days than never before. Prior the beating my master had confidence in my skills; he used to see me as a man who served, and not as a boy in need. That made me miserable, and caused me more pain than my broken ribs.

"Given that you do not know how to take care of yourself, Grimaud, and that neither scolding nor punishment have done nothing to improve your conduct, I'm compelled to remove some of your privileges," my master told me as he removed his linen shirt to put on a cotton one. I was surprised how much his long muscles had thickened in that year on the ship. "From now on, I forbid you to obtain satisfaction not in port, nor on the sea. Not even by your own hand.”

"Master!" I protested and almost wrinkled the starched shirt in my hand.

"That's an order, Grimaud," the Viscount said dropping his pants to put on galligaskins he used to wear down his pants in the wet seasons. "You attract the worst individuals I've ever met, and I'm convinced it's because you're a lewd Breton who loses his head every time a hard cock crosses your mind."

It was not my fault. My last experience had indeed been as he said, because I lowered my guard for I wasn't thinking with my head, at that time filled with lust, but the issue of the ship and Bruno wasn't part of what he said. My master seemed to understand what was happening in my head because, half dressed, he approached where I was and took my hair from my face with his fingertips, with extreme care to avoid hurting my bruises.

"You are valuable to me, you make my life easier and I like that you obey me promptly and without thinking. You're really mine," he explained, looking into my eyes. "When something is mine, I try to care for it. I don't want anything of mine, in particular if valuable, at hand for any moron who didn't appreciate it. When you can take care of this important thing, I'll let you get your satisfaction anywhere. At this point, you can't, and it is my duty to take care of you. "

"But, master, I need it..." I tried to explain, I really thought I needed my carnal satisfaction.

"You don’t need it, Grimaud, you want it, and that's different," he said placing his hand on my shoulder. "Keep in mind that you spent sixteen of seventeen years without missing it. Besides, you know that if you behave, I'll see you are happy and satisfied in every way."

For a moment my mind went blank. My master had repeated his offer. I think the idea of touching him was my most cherished fantasy for a couple of months, but I had never really believed in it.

"Do you desire me, master?" the question escaped my lips before I could even think of stopping it.

"In truth, no. I don't desire you, but I want you to be happy to serve and please me for a long time," his answer was honest, that was enough for me. "You're a randy guy, Grimaud, I'm sure that, if I let you be my toy, you will please me in every way, because you are enthusiastic about what you do."

"What must I do to receive that pleasure, master?"

"Be the best servant you can be, that's all," then his hand left me and the authoritarian gesture returned to his face. "But make no mistake, I'm not your lover, you aren't my doxy. You'll be my toy, a warm body to hug and a tight hole to satisfy my lust, just that. I can play with you whenever I want or do not play at all. For you, this will be another service, like washing my shirts or polishing my boots. "

His words sounded rough, but that change in the attitude of his body and his face told me another story. There were things in his mind that he could not express; he was the master and there was a huge difference between where he was and where I was. The Viscount didn't love me, that was true, but I was sure there was some affection, the same attachment that he felt for his beloved, pampered horse. At that time I believed that life was better as his toy that just as his valet. After all, children love their toys.

"Does my master forbid me to be fond of him?" I asked, lowering my eyes.

To my inquiry, my master’s brow furrowed immediately. Clearly my question had baffled him, and I didn't grasp what was the matter, for it was a simple query. It would take me years to understand that, for him, the notion that he could be the object of such feelings was as unlikely as the idea that I could be interested in breasts.

"No. God knows I cannot forbid you that" his answer was given with a low voice, almost insecure. "Finish packing. We'll be late..."

***

From that day, and despite the bruises, I was proud to walk behind my master. I didn't announce to the world that I was my master’s toy. If I had done that, the Viscount's hand would have been very quick to hit my neck, and remind me my place. Something had changed in me, that was a sure thing, but I didn't care. The only thing that worried me was that my master had his clean shirts and his doublets were in perfect condition. The rest was motivated only by my desire to please him, for him to see that I was actually a prized possession. I don't plan to lie; my attitude had the same parts of love and lust working to take me to that state. The idea that his hands caressing me was better than any memory I had of Bruno. But what really kept my spirits up was that my master began to brag about my work when another officer noticed by my commitment to him.

"Grimaud is a clever boy," he told an officer one day when light rain was falling and I present myself on deck with his cape so he wouldn't get wet.

Those words echoed in my ears for days. Slowly, without haste, I became a glutton for his praises; they told me that he could tell my efforts to make him happy, and that none of these efforts were in vain. Similarly, my master no longer patronize me; I don't know if it was the absence of visible bruises or the fact that my ribs healed, but he returned to that detached attitude and giving orders left and right for me to fulfill eagerly. Our routine didn't change, even the night with wine and questions remained, though I had no more experience to report, that didn't stop him, he only had to start asking about my fantasies; I responded, slightly embarrassed, and served wine efficiently, but inside I was wondering when would be the day that my master want to start playing with his new toy.

Ironically, the first time I ended up in his bed had nothing to do with the fact that I was his toy. God knows I should hate Spain based only by how sick I got in Gijon. When I finally started feeling better, I remember that my master was sitting in bed, wearing his galligaskins only, he looked tired but was drinking some wine and his face lighted up when he noticed I was awake.

"Good! Seems that we finally end the show," said my master, coming to me to pass a wet rag over my face. "Do you feel nausea, Jean-Benoît? Because if it is so, I am sorry, I’ll have to keep myself away from you... This is the only clean clothes I have left!"

"No, master," I mumbled, my mouth was feeling too dry. He gave me a sip of his wine in a cup, reduced with water.

"Better yet," he admitted while I drank the mixture and he filled a basin with water. "It's good you're awake, because I was about to give you a well-deserved scrub and now you can help." Without a warning, his hands pulled my sweat soaked shirt and left me in the buff. "You have no idea how bad you reek..."

If I had strength in my body I would have laughed, but after spending two days belching forth, my reserves weren't enough. My master was far from perfect, but his nose was too damn good. While he took care of my stench, with my feeble help, he informed me he had paid the innkeeper's wife to wash our clothes and told me he was sure I would have do it again, because she would not starch his shirts as he liked them. He must be very concerned to be talking so much and I was too exhausted to comprehend him, the only thing I understood was that my master wanted me back to work as quickly as possible because his needs weren't met.

" _M. le Vicomte_ is a spoiled brat," the wine must be too strong for my weak stomach, or I never dared to give him the name his father used to call him.

"Maybe I am, but it is your responsibility to spoil me," he said throwing the dirty water through the window. I never saw his face. Immediately after, my master got into bed with me. "So you better get well soon because I won't board the ship without you."

That was the first night I felt his arms around my chest and his leg resting on my thigh and the first one in which I slept, lulled by the sound of his regular and deep breathing. Since that night I started to think of him as _mon enfant gâté_...

***

It was not long before my master and I were involved in our first sea battle against Barbary corsairs, heading to Marseille. I was unhurt, my master was on the front lines and got rid of a good number of pirates but received some damage, a belaying pin in his right shoulder hampered him, it was fortunate that his father had accustomed him to use his left hand or my master wouldn't have survived the boarding. We had good surgeons in the vessel, my master was well cared for but when we arrived at Cadiz for supplies, the Viscount was positively annoyed by his lack of mobility. My master didn't attend to his first dinner in port with the other officers, he excused himself saying he wanted to rest and the veteran sailors understood his attitude. I suspected that he was in pain, but I never heard him complain.

When I returned from cleansing, as was my habit when disembark in port, my master was resting in an armchair. We were just going to rest a couple days in southern Spain, it had no use to accommodate all his clothes in the right furniture. So I chose the shirt that my master would use the next day and I began to sort the laundry. After completing my work I sat on the floor, for I didn't have much else to do, at least until dawn. My master noticed my idleness and his left hand slapped his left thigh, which was my cue. Gladly, I stood up and then sat myself next to him, with my head on his leg; immediately, his fingers began to stroke my hair, absently. His touch was different with other occasions; this time was more than touching a favorite pet. I could feel it.

"Master?" I dared to break his rule of not speaking until I was spoken first.

"I do realize that it's been more than two months since I ordered you not to seek pleasure," he said, as if the only word out of my mouth would have been a speech. "In fact, I am satisfied with your work and, while we were heading to Cadiz, I thought I'd let you use that mouth I hear that you praise so much. It's just that now, even when I want to try, I have no head to think about how to organize the event..."

I stood and knelt in front of his parted legs, trying to find words to tell him that I knew what I was doing, that a ritual wasn't necessary. It was impossible to try to explain to my master that a word from him would be enough for me to take care of the details, he was too used to being responsible for me and all I could do was point to his crotch and asked in a low voice: “May I?”

"I guess I have to leave it to the expert ..." my master replied, smiling. It would be years before he confessed to me that it was the first time that anyone used his mouth to pleasure him.

God knows I should love Spain based only by how happy I was in Cadiz.

***

My master was determined not to be wounded in battle again, he was aware that he could defend himself with a sword, but the naval battles were more savage than the fine art of fencing. As soon as he was recovered, he devoted himself to learning the art of fighting pitched battles, taking for teachers the Marseilles sailors who were more accustomed to fighting for their lives amidst the chaos. I spent my free time sitting on a pile of ropes, sewing his shirts and enjoying the spectacle of my young master struggling with sailors on the deck. He must have realized my pleasure, because once my master could pay attention to anything other than the fray, he decided that I should learn to give a good blow. The roles were reversed and it was he who enjoyed the sight with a mug of wine in his hand while I was in the arms of those deft sailors.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mon enfant gâté = my spoiled brat


	5. Débourrage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genre: Drama  
> Size: ~ 16,000 words  
> Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is aware that BSDM is a lifestyle and she suports the right of everyone to live their lives as they please. Dumas & Maquet’s work is public domain.  
> Synopsis: It is 1609-1611. The young Viscount of La Fère is living on his own now and serving in the navy, followed by his valet. Despite his lack of experience to live on his own, the Viscount has a responsibility to take care of his lackey. Completely unprepared, with the training of horses and hounds as all reference, he proceed to train his servant. This is the story of this training, from the perspective of Grimaud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There may be underage sex, mostly done by teenagers over the age of sixteen that are living on their own. To the purpose of this fanfic they should be seen as emancipated minors

_Give pleasure. Accept pleasure. It's that easy._

~ Kenneth Hanes

 

The first night he actually invited me to his bed he issued very clear rules: I must be clean, I must be obedient and I mustn't make too much noise. The Viscount ordered me to get into bed; I obeyed and leaned against his chest, hoping he would make the first move, trembling with excitement at the prospect of receiving his touch, but it didn't arrive. My master was still on the pillow, his right hand on my shoulder, but he didn't seem to have intentions to fondle me. I was confused. Why I had to be there if he wasn't going to play?  I waited for a time seemed like hours, but he wasn't moving, then I thought maybe my master wanted me to take initiative like that night in Cadiz. That idea seemed sensible at the moment, and I let my hand caress his side. My master's answer was turning in bed until his back was in my view. Strong muscles under a white shirt, and I rubbed my face against them, letting my hands embrace his waist, but his lack of response was strange. I was determined that he paid any attention to me, and let my hand wander under the fine linen shirt. It was then that my master sat on the bed in one swift motion, and glared at me.

"What do you think you're doing?" he asked surprised and angry, his face could tell that he had just awakened. "Out of my bed, Grimaud. If you don't let me sleep, then you don't deserve to be here!"

"But, master ..." I tried to explain that I had misunderstood his intentions, but he pushed me out of bed despite my protests.

"God's mercy!" He exclaimed when I left the sheets. "You'll sleep on the floor, if you cannot obey when I order you something."

That done, my master lay in bed with a snort, ready to return to sleep as if I no longer mattered. Not knowing what to do, but quite contrite for having disobeyed, I sat next to his bed. It was raining outside, and I heard the drops against the shutters. I felt miserable for having failed my master, and also for ruining the chance to share his bed. If I knew him, it would be months before he made me climb it again. I had lost his confidence and that hurt me. I didn't even feel when the tears began to pour down my cheeks.

The next day my master found me asleep at the foot of his bed, curled up like a puppy, but if he took pity on me, that wasn't shown on his face. That day, I fulfilled my responsibilities as usual, and I felt his eyes on my back all the time, even though we were near Perpignan, and he was busy with affairs of his family and he was away from the inn where he was staying. He returned at night, his eyes passed over his room as if he were looking for something to complain about, but everything was as he wanted. With an upset gesture, my master moves to the bed, and I rushed to help him take off his boots. His eyes never left me, even when I was helping him to remove his doublet. In his shirt, my master sat on the bed.

"Last night, Grimaud, I wanted to sleep ..." he started talking absently.

"I know, master," I muttered, passing the brush on the shoulders of the doublet to remove dust. "Please, forgive me."

"I did it, because you deserved a reward. The last few months you have greatly improved your service. I'm pleased," he explained extending the legs to rest. "But I have no confidence in re-invite you to my bed. As we know, once the lust seizes you, you stop thinking."

I don't know what to do or say, I was sure I had lost the confidence of my master.

"Bring the cords of my doublet, Grimaud," he told me, and I obeyed. I did not even dream to comprehend what was intended. "Take off your clothes, turn around and put your hands on the back."

Within a year, my master had managed to make a second nature for me to obey his will, although I was disturbed by the nudity. I appreciated not having to look into his eyes while I was naked. It didn't take me long to undress, I put my hands behind my back, as he had ordered, and waited. I knew he wasn't going to beat me, but I didn't divine what he wanted. His intentions were clear once he put one of my arms above the other, and began to tie them together.

"Master?" I was hoping that the fear in my voice wasn't too obvious.

"You have another chance, Grimaud" he said, by the noise he made I realized that he was settling to sleep. "This time, try to let me sleep, and, next time, we wouldn't need to tie you. Come on to bed."

I turned to see him. He was lying in bed, his left arm extended on the mattress, and his right hand held apart the blankets. I had trouble climbing into bed without the use of hands, but I got it. My master smiled at me, and leaned over my frame to blow off the candle. Once in the dark, my master accommodated my body against his, and murmured his desire for me to sleep well.

I don't know how it was that I managed to sleep soundly, because early in the morning my arms ached from the position, and I squirmed, trying hard not to wake my master. He woke up later; I think he felt I was trembling at his side. His smile told me he had rested, and the sun filtering through the windows blinds highlighted his dark hair, and his face. Without saying a word, my master, let his hand wander over my chest, his fingers played with my nipples, and I completely forgot about my arms.

"I need to know if I'm doing it fine," my master told me a while later, once he had recognized every part of my body.

"I'm hard, master" I said trembling, looking forward for him to continue stroking my body.

"That means nothing!" protested the Viscount. "I wake up with a morning glory every day, and I have no man fondling me to get it."

"More, please, master," I begged him, waiting to those caresses which he was doing so well.

"That's better," my master’s hand was wandering down my legs. "‘More’, ‘yes’, and ‘good’, is all you're allowed to say. If you utter another word, I won't play with you ..."

No, that wasn't the morning when he took possession of his hole. My master was too smart, and he wanted to get all the pleasure he could from me before granting me my whim. This morning he only used his hands on me. Once he finished, he unleashed and scolded me. For some reason, he felt that I was not responding favorably to his cares. He wanted more replies from me: moaning and panting was acceptable; utter cries, begs, and orders was not.

I tried to obey this new order, but its practicality eluded me until one night it all came together near Montpellier: without a candle to illuminate my face it would be very difficult for him to know he was bringing me pleasure. That night, he put some ointment my hands before blowing the candle, and then carried my hand to his hardness and his slippery fingers stroked mine until we both got our satisfaction. In the throes of our carnal passion I got the desire to kiss his lips, but he continued shaking his head, avoiding contact.

"I know where that mouth has been, Grimaud," he said as he caught his breath, and his cum began to dry up in his shirt. "The day will come when I don't care, but until then, no kissing!"

Our life in the naval service was routine, work on the vessel, training to save our lives and using it in the occasional battles where our ship was involved, fulfill our guards and docking. My master, I must admit, tried to keep his routine ashore as well, writing letters that never received a response, developing a social life with his fellow officers, and watching that the orders he gave me were fulfilled. In the eyes of the public, between Nice and Perpignan, the Viscount of Fère was a young nobleman beyond any reproach.

But, inviting me to the bed was a safe way to abandon his rigid patterns of behavior. In the sack, my master acted more on impulse. I couldn't ensure that there was a specific moment in which he wanted to play. Sometimes he wanted to sleep all night and put his hands on me in the morning; other times I woke up in the middle of the night, feeling that his manhood was between my legs, and his voice calling me in whispers before using his hands on my crotch; and some other times, he went to business even before he blew the candle off. He knew that I was his, that on entering the bed I had given him the option to take me whenever he wanted and, in gratitude, the Viscount gave me all the pleasure he could give.

Perhaps, the hardest part of my service that year was the difficulty of drawing seed stains out of shirts. No one had prepared me for that eventuality.

***

I was about to turn eighteen, had a job that I loved and another job I could do well; I had a master who cared about me, in and out of bed. I could read and do math, but he insisted that he should keep practicing, when he sent me to the market, he always wrote on a piece of paper what he wanted to buy, and ordered me to write down how much each item had cost and cast up the accounts once I returned to the hostel. That bothered me, I knew I had a good memory, but he was the master. One morning in Sète, when he sent me to buy ink and paper, I was surprised to find two bodies hanging from the gallows in the square. The post next to the bodies claimed that the heinous sin of sodomy would not be tolerated in Languedoc.

"They deserve the stake, at least," said a young man beside me, trying to control the pig he had for selling. "Hanging is too good for those buggers..."

I grunted my agreement and almost ran to get away from the spectacle that had apparently taken place that morning, while I used my mouth for the pleasure of my master.

I had to stop at a tavern and order a mug of beer, trying not to hear the savage glee loudly expressed by people around me; my heart was banging in my ears, and my head hurt. I felt like running away, I felt the need to check over my shoulder at every moment, fearing that someone knew what I was doing, fearing that the men of the alley return. My master was displeased with my delay. He punished me, but I was not fazed by his blows, I just no longer felt safe ashore, even though I was by his side.

"I don't know what's happening with you, Grimaud," the Viscount complained a couple of months later. "You seem to be expecting that someone will come from behind with a big stick," my master paused; he knew that such comments made me laugh. When all I did was look down and devote myself to repair his shirt, my master continued. "You're nervous; you hardly eat and barely sleep. What's going on?"

"Nothing, master," I replied and refused to see him in the eye. He couldn't fix what was happening inside me. "I must be tired."

"You act as if you were dead. Last night, you hardly react when I touched you," the reproach struck a chord, but I didn't try to answer. "If my lustful Breton doesn’t react, I get worried. Are you tired of my touch?"

"Never, master!" I protested dropping the shirt I was sewing. The only thing worse than my fear was the idea of losing him.

"Are you still my toy, by your own will?" his blue eyes looked at me with intent while the candle on the wall outlined his features.

"Yes, master" I mumbled, and looked away so he wouldn't notice my confusion. "I am the Viscount's plaything, whenever _M. le Vicomte_ , wants it."

"Then, get rid of your trousers, and go to bed," he ordered, finishing with wine in one gulp.

That order was tearing me apart, a bit of me felt the need to rebel against his order and the other needed to obey him. If he was not obeyed, I was losing my reason to live. In the end, all that mattered was that my master was happy, so I obeyed. By the look he was giving me, I felt I was not obeying quickly enough and for a moment, my mind got the idea that this could make my master punish me, that the thought of playing could be forced out of his head. I would submit to his blows until he left me raw, but I didn't want him to touch me again.  My master didn't seem to change his mind, a sign indicated that I should lay hands on the headboard of the bed, and, as soon as I did it, he tied them against the furniture. He had tied me before, but this time the bonds scared me. I was completely terrified and couldn't say why; I had no words to explain it. The Viscount didn't realize that I was frightened, he had an idea and, for him to cast it away, I should kick and scream, but I would never do that.

At that time, I believed that my full obedience to my master was more important than me being honest with him.

His touch was safe, economical, and practical. I felt his fingers caressing my belly, lifting my shirt to shed kisses on skin that at that time was as tight as the leather of a drum. I had dreamed so often to feel his breath against my body, and now all I felt was a lump in my throat. The Viscount nibbled my lower belly, as his fingers played with the hair that was between my legs. I begged God to change his heart, to stop him, but my master, with the hesitation of a person not accustomed to such activities, he passed his tongue over my genitals. He couldn't get it thick. Surely, my master thought it was his inexperience, because he insisted; and his long fingers cradled my balls, almost tenderly. I should be like a dog panting in the sun, but all I could think was that he shouldn't be doing that, that I shouldn't get my master condemned for my sake. Tears started rolling down my face and moisten my ears.

"Grimaud?" My master asked after a while. His nose was good, but his ears were not half bad.

"Mercy, _M. le Vicomte_ ..." I was able to articulate, trying not to sob loudly as I really wanted, "I beg you... stop..."

"I'm a bit inexperienced, but I swear I will not bite," he tried to explain, half-jokingly, half seriously. I was scaring him, but fear prevented me from trying to calm him down.

"No... just going to... condemn yourself ..." I sobbed, and that idea racked my body for I could not stop crying.

My master unleashed me right away, and I bent over and curled myself on the bed, crying in despair. The Viscount sat beside me, and his fingers stroked my back and my hair; he didn't say a word, just let the feeling take its own course. I stammered what was in my head, without much order or reason; I just let it out, groaning and sobbing. When the storm passed, the viscount put me under the covers, and hugged me while stroking my hair. The sense of security began to return, my master made me feel safe and appreciated again.

"When you think I'm asleep, Grimaud, I hear you say I'm your _enfant gâté_ ," whispered my master in my ear, he was still stroking me. "That makes me smile, but I'm not a child. I'm not going to condemn myself because of you; I'm damning my soul by my own hand. I'm the one who takes advantage that you are a sodomite, and the one who receives pleasure by stroking your body. God will judge us, and we can avoid the wrath of men, if we are discreet. Just be the best servant you can be, I'll worry about keeping you safe." The Viscount promised me, holding me against his body. "Sleep."

***

I never thought that I was able to feel such affection for someone, especially one as difficult to deal with as the Viscount. But it was true. Once he calmed me down on human justice, I stopped thinking about God's justice, and devoted myself to completely worship him. To serve him was no longer my service, it became my honor. Each twenty days, he placed a silver coin in my hand, I thanked him, put it in a bag with my clothes, and forget about it. All that mattered was that his clothes were clean; his food, hot; and, his wine, ready. Every time I was called to his bed, I felt like exploding with joy, sometimes he didn't even had to invite me, the thought was enough to make me smile.

My hands and mouth were available, day or night, for him. Between the sheets, the Viscount let me play more and more; it seemed that my master knew that my mind was filled with the bright idea to satisfy every longing of his body, and by that time, I knew the feel of every part of his body, and the limits within which I could caress and kiss him. My master was moving less quickly, but more accurately, it took several months for him to start stroking the edges of his hole. His priority seemed to apply all his creativity in an act that was new to him, licking my body was an arcane experience in which he was venturing and, despite my embarrassment, he had extended it to suck my hardness. When he questioned me about our night sessions, I couldn't help saying that such activity was above his dignity, but he just laughed.

"I'm your master, Grimaud, nothing I do with your body, is above my dignity," he always answered me. "I work for my pleasure, not yours."

And a sweet job was his, because he made me part of it.

***

One night, my master agreed to cross swords with me, although I was not noble not even by mistake. His fingers stroked my crotch, covering it with the ointment he used to polish his sword. His hands made sure that the inside of my legs were slippery and then lay on his side facing me, his hardness slid between my thighs, and mine was lodged between his. His hands gripped my buttocks before starting to rub his stiff flesh against mine, using his fingers to recognize the hole that belonged to him, and that I begged him to hurry to occupy. I could not stand still while he assaulted me like that; I kissed his shoulders, stroking his back, entangled my fingers in his long hair... Each section of my body was screaming that I longed to be taken once and for all, but the satisfaction came too fast.

"How I wish you could brand me, Master!" I exclaimed under my breath. "For everyone would know that I am yours"

"If you need me to brand you, Grimaud, then I'm not doing my job," he said annoyed, and I was grateful that there was no a candle that illuminated his face. "Get out of the bed."

My master was quick to return me to my proper place. My desire was too great to allow me to shut what, for almost a year, was eating me alive. Yes, the next morning my master punished me for my insolence, which I well deserved.

Perhaps, the Viscount had noticed that the fruit was ripe. Maybe he just wanted to stop my unexpected comments. The only certainty I had was that it was his decision, and not mine. He just called me to his bed and hugged me to sleep. My master made no announcement, nor told me it was a prize, he just called my name at midnight, and I felt his fingers caressing the inside of my body, I didn't know when he started to grope me, but I did know that was more than ready for what he had in mind.

"It is time, Grimaud," my master whispered, resting his weight on his right arm and using his left hand to guide his hardness into my body.

I gasped. I was sure to be dreaming the most wonderful and cherished dream of my life, and I did not want it to end. The reality of his striker poking between my legs was even more fabulous than my wildest dreams. My hands were clasped behind his back and I closed my eyes, submitting myself to his desire.

"Tight..." my master muttered through clenched teeth as he pushed.

'Huge!' I thought opening my legs to the fullest extent. He never felt that big in my hand or in my mouth. I didn't dare to say the word aloud, though.

There was no pain, but I trembled at the force of his progress until it touched something inside of me and my back arched and my body accepted him all the way in. Finally, this was happening, he was above me, taking me, marking it as his.

He didn't ask for my life, but that night I gave it to him, anyway...

***

The next morning took me by surprise, it was a rare occasion: my master awoke before I did, and he was sitting on the windowsill, looking out to the bright and charming morning. I didn't know how to react, my master was, now more than ever before, the center of my universe; my eyes drank the beauty of his young male body and the rest of my senses submitted to his superiority; but my mind and my soul compelled me to shout my gratitude. I remember I got out of bed with unsure feet, and walked the few steps to be by his side; it was then that my knees buckled, my head leaned against his extended thigh and my hand took the hem of his shirt before my lips a kiss in the fine linen of his garment.

"Thank you, master," I whispered while I was trying not to open my mouth. I didn't want him enraged towards me, after the marvelous gift he gave me.

"Last night was cold," said the Viscount with indifference while he was still watching the port from his post by the window. "I couldn't let you sleep on the floor."

"But last night ..." I stammered trying to understand what he was saying.

"Last night, I let you slept in my bed, for it was cold, Grimaud," he repeated without seeing me in the eye. "And nothing more."

"I thought you and I ..." How to explain him that his reaction was confusing me?

"That must have been a hell of a dream, eh?"

At that moment, my master’s eyes fell on me; he had a mischievous glint in them. My master was very aware of what we had done, that impish bright told me that he had enjoyed taking possession of me too, and the rest of his face told me that the matter should remain in complete secrecy. I understood.

"You must be careful not to tell your dreams out loud, you could endanger your life and mine," he recommended making a sign to let him get off the windowsill. "It happens that I appreciate both. You will be able tell me your dream, after breakfast, Grimaud."

"Of course, master, breakfast," I replied standing up and running to get dressed to meet his needs. "But the dream is no longer important ..."

"Dreams never are, my good Grimaud," said my master distracted, he was busy brushing his hair. "The reality is the only important thing."

The Viscount was right about many things, the first was that his life was his; and second, that reality is the only thing that matters. And the reality was that he was my master, I belonged to him, that whatever the future brings to us I would be at his side, making his life comfortable and orderly.

I was still young, but I had proved that the world could really offer much more than I ever dreamed, both sweet and sour tastes. And I longed to have time to try them all, next to my master.

Now I had a worthy master, and I was his devoted servant.

Life was wonderful.

END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enfant gâté = spoiled brat


End file.
